


Instructions to the Driver

by Einzel



Category: Free!
Genre: Multi, Rin is single and parched as heck, slow-building Makoharu, wrote Haru with autistic!Haru headcanons in mind
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-19 03:50:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4731854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Einzel/pseuds/Einzel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One lone Friday night, Haru decides to order a pizza. It eventually becomes a habit.</p><p>This is basically a writing exercise because I seriously need to refresh my style and build some self-confidence so I can eventually tackle and finish <em>When Haru Met Makoto</em>. I've been absent for so long that I thought I'd try for some shorter stories and upload them here for you (they were originally uploaded to my Tumblr) to enjoy while I'm recuperating. This one is something I've been planning for a long time, so now that I'm writing it, I'm trying to have as much fun with it as possible, and by that I mean the mood and perspective change from chapter to chapter as I'm flexing my writing muscles in different directions. Enjoy, and if you like it, do let me know: I seriously need all the help and encouragement I can get. Thank you!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. mackerel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haru orders pizza. Snowflake eventually becomes blizzard.

Flipping channels. Blood everywhere: on the news and in television dramas Haru’s never watched long enough to learn the names. He tosses the remote onto the cushion by the living room table and lurches into the kitchen. He pries the fridge door open and stares in growing confusion at zested lemons cut in half, a jar of pickled plums almost gone, and a plastic container of plain rice. His hand knocks against a near-empty carton of eggs as he fumbles inside. Mackerel… where did he put the mackerel..?

The phone drums obnoxiously against the end table. It’s always Kisumi.

 _Did you get home safely?_ he chirps against the gory backdrop of yet another crime series Haru will never bother to follow.

“Yeah,” he sighs, his voice as empty as his head.

_You had dinner yet?_

“Not yet…”

_Is it going to be mackerel again?_

Haru frowns. The fridge door slams closed behind his back. “I’m out of mackerel.”

 _Oh wo-how!_ come the amused high notes. _Never thought I’d hear that one!_

“Shut up,” mutters Haru.

 _You can always go to the seaside market, it should still be open at this hour, right?_ replies Kisumi without skipping a beat.

“I don’t want to walk,” grunts Haru, his brow crinkled in annoyance. A hum follows.

_Time to treat yourself to take-out then! Ooorr, how about eating out with me for a change?_

“No.” The answer is always immediate, always the same. Even Kisumi’s laugh rings the same: the buzz of mosquitoes, the shriek of sandpaper against splintered wood.

 _So cold…!_ he whines in a mock pout that grates with a dry burn Haru wishes he could scratch away. _Well, good night, Haru! See you tomorrow!_

“Night,” mumbles Haruka as he presses _End Call_ and then lets the phone clink against the end table once more. He still isn’t sure why he occasionally gets these calls from Kisumi – so unnecessary, since they work at the same restaurant and see each other way too often for his liking. Nevertheless, the calls always seem to come on darker days, and Haru, though he cannot express it, is sensible of there being some kindness in the gesture, a kindness that is nonetheless lost on him right now. He’s out of mackerel. Someone is screaming – probably the murder victim… and Haru is too tired to walk another mile.

He drags himself into the living room and plops down to his laptop – another needless thing, since he hardly uses it for anything except work e-mails and Skype calls with his mother, whose initial complaints that he never smiled into the camera eventually led Haru to cover the webcam with a piece of duct tape and lie through his teeth that it was broken. Her complaints soon changed to his not getting the computer fixed as he ought, but somehow that’s still more bearable than being urged to smile. Besides… Haru kind of likes it as it is, with its scuffed dolphin sticker on top and a weathered Squirtle charm hanging from the side. The search engine comes in handy too, and never more so than tonight, when look as he might, he cannot find a single flier in his apartment for some dime-a-dozen fast food place that could help chase away his hunger for another night. A few clicks inform him that there are several options in his area, but none of them carry mackerel dishes. _What a waste_ , he thinks with a frown that deepens when he adds, _Kisumi would probably find this funny, too_. With just a few weeks of acquaintanceship under his belt, Kisumi was fairly quick to observe that for someone who makes twenty different dishes a day, Haru’s preferences were suspiciously narrow.

Mackerel.

Water.

Sleep…

After five more minutes of tedious scrolling and clicking, he finally happens across the website of a recently opened pizza place called Sasabe’s that Haru initially reads as _Saba’s_ and feels a twinge of excitement before realization hits and disappointment sets in like a dull headache. He has half a mind to close the tab as punishment for being deceived, but the slick design of the site draws him in, invites him to linger at the virtual table as the menu rolls across his screen. He could count the number of times he’s had pizza on one hand, and isn’t quite swayed by the menu – again, no mackerel, at least not at first glance –, but unlike other take-out sites Haru’s visited so far, this one lets him place an order online ( _Good_ , he hates phone calls), and even has an optional _Instructions to the Driver_ section.

 _Please let us know if you have any instructions for us_ , the box says, informing him he has 150 characters left to do so. Haru fidgets.

After a minute of contemplation, he refreshes the page, places an order for a simple cheese pizza with his name, address and phone number, and into the box, he simply types,

_mackerel_


	2. squad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kou is spoiled and loves it.

Earlier that day, sunlight came streaming into another apartment like trails of golden silk, draping itself across a lone breakfast tray on the kitchen counter. Plate clean, bowl empty, the mug lukewarm porcelain, dangling from the crook of Kou’s fingers as her thumb swipes across another page of the dog-eared paperback in her other hand. She bites her bottom lip at the next passage, eyes wide with scandalous joy until the phone lets out a loud chirp and coaxes a spooked squeak out of her. She lets the mug roll back onto the tray, then grabs the phone, thanking the Kou of last night for setting an alarm just in case.

“I’m gonna be late!” she chides herself as she slams her book closed and tosses it to the side, springing up from her chair and grabbing her purse from the end table by the hallway. She soon stumbles towards the door with one foot arched behind her back, seeking the light blue flat in her hand that misses two times before her toes slip in at last. She stomps her foot lightly against the tiles until the edges nestle comfortably against her skin, then twirls back to the mirror by the coat rack to tuck a rogue tuft behind her ear. She cracks a giddy smile at her reflection. Her first job! Within such short distance, too! No need for public transport or even a bicycle: walking will suffice, or in the present case, a light jog, since that novel was just impossible to put down.

Her floral skirt ripples in the breeze as Kou scurries down the old wooden stairs and hurries around the building towards the front gate, sprinting with easy elegance past a rustling bush that produces a bright orange mop and a small bug-catching net with a stag beetle flailing inside in righteous indignation.

“Have a great day, Kou-san!!” she hears her next-door neighbor shout from the ever-growing distance and so she whips up an aimless hand to wave in his general direction, followed by a hum too short of breath to reach his ears. A few steps more and Kou pirouettes onto the street, where her flats screech to a halt just inches away from the squad car parked right in front of the gate.

“I’m so sorry..!” she cries instinctively as her arms smack to her sides in a salute and the purse slips behind her back, then balks in even greater shock as the officer lounging in the passenger’s seat sticks out an elbow and careens his head out of the car, one finger dragging down his shades to reveal a pair of bright red eyes just like her own.

“Get in, Gou,” says her brother Rin. “We’re driving you to work.”

As if on cue, a large shadow shifts behind Rin and Kou glimpses a pair of vintage aviator sunglasses at the wheel – the Black Dog of Iwatobi, Yamazaki Sousuke.

“Hey,” he nods to Kou with a slight tip of his police hat. She feels her cheeks flush when his lips widen into one of his rare smiles and quickly brings a hand to her mouth to smother a flustered giggle.

“And what’s this?” she asks sweetly when she regains her composure, letting her hand swing back to the front where both clasp daintily over her purse. “I don’t remember saying I needed a chauffeur…”

“We were in the neighborhood, that’s all,” mutters Rin with a quick check in the rear view mirror to escape his sister’s prying glances.

“More like five miles from the neighborhood,” quips Sousuke, not even flinching as Rin jabs an elbow into his side while swearing in English. Force of habit.

“Onii-chan is too nice,” sighs Kou dreamily as she opens the back door and slides in, the hem of her skirt gathered to the front as she settles down in the back. Rin huffs and turns his head archly to the side.

“It’s your first day on the job, isn’t it? I have to know that the place is… okay,” he mumbles to the building yawning beyond the gate. Kou no longer tries to hide her amusement.

“Thank you, Onii-chan, Sousuke-kun,” she replies with a grin. Sousuke flashes her another one of those calm smiles that set her tingling beneath the painted magnolias of her skirt.

“Where am I taking you, then?” he asks as Kou puts her purse down to the side and lets her knees knock together in the cramped space behind Rin’s seat. She introduces Sasabe’s as smartly as though she were a pamphlet. Sousuke hums.

“You two could be my first customers,” Kou adds with a wink as the car pulls away from the sidewalk. Rin scoffs.

“We don’t have _that_ much time,” he grumbles as he slams his back against his seat, arms defiantly folded over his seat belt. How he has time for a huge detour but no time to grab a slice of pizza while he’s at it is beyond Kou, but she puts it down as big brother logic and is too moved by the gesture and Sousuke’s molten bass to argue anyway.

 _It’s probably for the best_ , she thinks to herself. The last thing any employer needs first thing in the morning is a heart attack upon seeing their newest employee entering the establishment with two police officers in tow, one of whom is twice Kou’s size and once snapped a man’s arm for hitting his wife. As for the other… well, the other had uh, dental work done during his years in Australia, and if Kou didn’t know him, she wouldn’t want to meet him in a dark alley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone was wondering, Black Dog is a reference to Jet Black from _Cowboy Bebop_. I thought the nickname would fit Sousuke as a police officer.


	3. impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sousuke stays hydrated. Rin doesn't know what that word means.

After their twenty-minute detour, it only takes Sousuke two more to reach the area’s newest dining sensation, Sasabe’s Pizzeria. The restaurant, so Kou informs him and Rin as they step out of the car, is named after the owner, one Sasabe Goro, who transformed the place from a run-down fishing supplies store into a lively eatery that now boasts a beautiful green patio in the back. Rin isn’t exactly swayed by the promise of the patio, the large red and white-striped awning stretched above their heads, or the wooden menu stands by the door with their cheerful welcome messages and specialties of the day, but the moment Kou turns around, he casually falls into place behind her on the way to the entrance. Sousuke follows with a slight shake of his head. It was inevitable. It was… the Matsuoka way.

As they approach, a shadow stirs behind the glass and the door suddenly swings open. Behind it is Sasabe himself, who has been anticipating the young lady for some time and is now experiencing minor stomach cramps at the sight of her escorts. Rin can smell his fear. These middle-aged business owners are all the same. He pegs Sasabe as the type that orders you the second cheapest drink at the bar in the hopes of mingling, cracks lame jokes he’s read in the morning paper, then invites you to his place for a cup of tea and before you know it, you wake up alone, to the lingering smell of cologne from the fifties. He just… gives off that sort of vibe. It’s a pretty common vibe, it’s everywhere.

“M-Matsuoka-san!” stammers Sasabe Goro as he shrinks out of their way and puts his hands together, almost in prayer. “Is everything alright..?”

“Good morning, Sasabe-san,” replies Kou with a sunny smile. “Oh, everything is fine, this is just my brother and—”

“We are here to conduct a brief survey of the premises, sir,” interrupts Rin with a pointed smirk, careening his head left and right from lofty booths on the left to round cast-iron tables and chairs to the right. A moment later, Sousuke’s fist connects with his tail bone and an elaborate string of English swears escapes unbidden. So much for establishing his authority. Can’t Sousuke let him have fun for once?

“We just came to drop her off on her first day,” explains Sousuke to the owner as Rin steps aside to rub his lower back, glaring so intensely at his partner that the sneak appearance of a tray to his left nearly scares the life out of him. He lets this be known with a shout of surprise and the waiter shrieks in reply, his eyes wider than a deer’s in the headlights of a beat-up Honda Civic at two am in the morning.

“C-can I get you a drink?!” the guy quacks, trembling like a leaf in the wind, but all Rin notices is the small beauty mark under his eye and the chunky silver tufts framing his round face. He’s seen others like this boy around, they are what people like to call pretty little things, the ones that fidget and hesitate no matter how many dates they’ve been on, but open the flood gates with a casual hand up their thigh, and they suddenly turn wild and leave you chained to the bedpost, parched and begging for more… or so people say. It’s the word on the street, that’s all.

His silence is taken as a no. Behind him, Sousuke rolls his eyes.

“Some water,” he says out loud and the waiter, Nitori Aiichiro by name, scurries behind the counter to pour him a glass of non-carbonated mineral water.

Having lost easy sight of his first target, Rin scopes out the next person in the restaurant, a tall, brown-haired waiter Sasabe is busy introducing Gou to. The guy’s name, he discovers, is Tachibana Makoto. Not that this matters, because the moment Rin gets a good look at him, his eyes widen in dreadful familiarity. Rin wasn’t born yesterday, he’s seen the type before: the ones that can easily smile the pants off you, but still look surprised when it hits the floor between your ankles and politely decline the creased bills in your trembling hand and that desperate look in your eyes. He catches Gou’s gaze flitting to the guy’s well-toned arms several times during their conversation and swallows quietly. So she’s aware of it too – she, too, can smell the beast within. From the look of those biceps under his shirt, that guy might be able to lift someone Rin’s size off his feet and up against the wall and just, pin him there for an hour or so. …F-for no reason at all. That’s, that’s pretty dangerous, this one. He’s clean-shaven right now so his face looks like an overgrown teenager’s, thank god, but if he were to grow a, a luscious beard, flashing that disarming smile of his, a guy might just have to spread wide open and tolerate any ignorant questions about the state of his teeth. …Or so Rin believes. He wouldn’t know, it’s just a premonition, okay?

Moving on… to the next one, allegedly the chef of this fine establishment. Rin’s unsure about the cherry red glasses or those spiked tufts sticking up by the guy’s forehead, but his eyes light up in realization when he overhears something about pizza having to be beautiful. Ah, so he’s one of those, the kind that stretches your preparation into the wee hours of the morning, fumbling with scented candles because everything has to be perfect, then ends up losing himself in ways you pray to god your shirt collar will hide so your coworkers don’t start gossiping behind your back… or something like that. It’s just a hunch, alright?! A cop’s instinct, for fuck’s sake!

“We need to get back,” he hears Sousuke say and Rin snaps out of his thoughts, hands climbing to his tie for a quick adjustment.

“Alright,” he mumbles in reply, shooting the owner one last look that promises brimstone and fire for the slightest transgression against her ponytailed majesty. He takes the hint – he’s the kind that takes all he can get. Rin turns towards the door and throws it wide open, marching out with his head jutted aggressively forward. Sousuke hands the now empty glass back to his server, then digs a bill out of his pocket and flicks it onto the guy’s tray. Aiichiro opens his mouth to protest – it was only a glass of water after all, but Sousuke dismisses him with a wave. Aiichiro’s lips clamp shut and he bows as deep as he can go without upsetting the contents of his tray. Sousuke gives him a slight nod in reply.

“Take care,” he tells Kou with a final tip of his hat, suppressing a smile at how brightly she waves goodbye, her purse still tucked to her side. Sousuke slides his hands in his pockets and leaves the restaurant in a calm power stride Matsuoka Rin only dreams of.

When the door finally closes behind Officer Yamazaki, Sasabe Goro allows himself a shaky sigh and pulls out his handkerchief to wipe his face. Aiichiro’s hands tremble too as he sets down the tray, his shoulders jumping when Makoto gives him a reassuring pat on the back unannounced (and apologizes at once for being thoughtless). Even Chef Ryuugazaki Rei rakes a nervous hand through his hair, for he has never seen such unsanitary-looking teeth in his life and needs a moment for the world to realign itself.

“Aren’t they great?” Kou turns to them with an angelic smile, and when the shock wears off, all four of them start humming, nodding and mumbling in agreement, some more convincingly than others.

Outside, Rin sinks into the passenger’s seat and draws the door closed, tugging his seatbelt into place with more force than necessary.

“So… what’s your impression of them?” he asks Sousuke, who drums his fingers on the wheel in contemplation before starting the car with slow, tantalizing movements.

“The owner checks out. I don’t think he’s ever done anything beyond running a few red lights or parking in the wrong spot,” he begins as he turns the key, letting his head roll back against the headrest while the engine roars to life. “The waiter that brought me the water? He’s like one of those kids that once took a piece of candy from the store and immediately regretted it and has been a nervous wreck since. No trouble there…”

His hand slips onto the end of the gear stick and tightens over it. Rin inhales sharply through his nose.

“Then the tall guy, he’s a boy scout,” continues Sousuke to the windshield, his hands now back at the wheel all firm and in control. “The designated driver. Completely dependable.” He checks the mirror. His reflection flirts with him briefly before Sousuke shifts away. Rin averts his eyes with a light huff.

“And that third one, he’s all talk but he’s probably harmless, too,” concludes Sousuke, then pauses in thought and turns to his partner. “What was your impression?” he asks next, his expression completely unreadable. Damn those stupid aviator glasses covering half of his face. Some days Rin just wants to yank them off Sousuke’s nose and toss them on the nightstand, or some other.. convenient surface…

After a moment of uncomfortable silence, Rin forces a nod, though he avoids eye contact.

“Same,” he blurts quietly, garnishing his reply with a few more nods as his arms fold almost protectively over his chest. Sousuke hums in acknowledgement. The car rolls back into traffic, and for the next two hours, Rin is so quiet they can hear crickets chirp on the outskirts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I blame Bruce McCulloch's monologues from _The Kids in the Hall_ (1988-1994) for whatever happened to Rin, who in turn blames those wild, wild times in Australia. At least Sousuke's analysis was spot on, except for one small detail: Nitori Aiichiro is actually 28 years old. He doesn't look a day over 19, though, so I don't blame anyone for messing up.


	4. observation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kou has her work cut out for her. Usually in eight slices.

Kou is told that for now, all she has to do is listen and observe. The counter she soon settles behind as bartender suddenly feels like her strategy board, and the _mise-en-scène_ , pieces of a grand puzzle she’s putting together piece by scattered piece. She watches, face scrunched up in concentration, as Sasabe’s calloused hands tick away at the register she is to operate as cashier, scribbling down his formulas in a notepad he graciously provided as a welcome aboard gift. She twitches slightly, lashes aflutter as she absent-mindedly thanks Makoto for bringing her a glass of water, and gathers it with whimsical elegance to take songbird sips while her employer demonstrates the replacement of receipt paper rolls, moves on to the online ordering system, and finally explains the operation of the coffee machine installed by the counter. She then follows him around in the small maze that is the kitchen, just for a gander, and leaves a circle of footsteps in the lush green patio surrounded by walls on all sides and illuminated, miraculously, through a textured glass ceiling, some panes of which are left open in fair weather. Sure enough, she spots the open ones when she careens her head back and lifts a hand to shield her eyes.

“May makes for perfect patio weather,” her employer tells her with a grin and she takes his word for it. Among the potted herbs and a miniature rock garden in full bloom, Kou could imagine herself draped across the bench by the table with her novel in hand.

“My late wife put that rock garden together,” he says in a voice slightly suffocated. “I’m still learning how to take care of it.”

And so Kou listens and observes, because when the doors open and their first customers drop by minutes later, as if having lingered in the vicinity in wait, Sasabe’s voice bellows in warm welcome that sends the young mother of two into nervous giggles and even coaxes a hapless chuckle out of her husband. Their two children, both of tender age, hide behind their mother’s skirt at first, tugging with tiny hands seeking comfort, but curiosity wins them over in seconds and they listen to this aging gentleman with a star cut on one side of his head as though he told the most interesting stories in the world, though all he did was express his wish that they would enjoy themselves at his humble pizzeria. He escorts them to one of the tables, at which point Makoto appears out of thin air, the very image of an impeccable server – their only server, in fact –, scattering pleasantries with a smile surprisingly honest. He fetches their infant daughter a high chair, carrying that thing in front of himself like it was a feather brush and even seats the little girl himself so that her mother could tend to her four-year-old son. He then pulls a notepad out of his pocket and takes their orders down: just a round of drinks while they peruse the menus Sasabe provided them with while Makoto brought out the high chair. It seems to Kou that keeping busy comes naturally to him. Perhaps it’s still a necessity, too.

The computer behind the counter pings. An online order has been submitted, and Sasabe is there immediately to help Kou through the motions. They keep a neat registry of persons they have delivered to before: names, addresses and phone numbers to verify the orders, compiled for the sake of hopefully issuing loyalty bonuses when the number of their orders exceed a certain amount. Sasabe is torn between offering a discount on their next order or giving away promotional t-shirts, maybe stationary?

“What do you think, Matsuoka-san?”

She places a vote for the stationary as she hands Makoto glasses from the wall so he could keep their customers refreshed while they pick out their pizzas. After a quick call to the office clerk placing his lunch order, Sasabe leaves for the kitchen to inform the chef that he is to make a mushroom pizza on the double, to be delivered within the hour by Sasabe himself. In a few minutes, the first order is joined by another batch courtesy of the family now happily waiting, and while Sasabe settles down by the counter, having run out of things to be helpful or officious about, Kou wonders if she might excuse herself to see the kitchen in action. She is of course permitted, and so she slips through the door to listen and observe.

In the kitchen, Aiichiro, the unsung hero, is preparing his station for the loads of dirty dishes he is going to scrub clean once the customer flow gets lively. His slippers have been abandoned for water-proof boots, the plastic gloves clinging to his hands a blaring yellow. At least the apron is more modest, a simple, dignified red.

“I’m getting cravings,” he sighs to the basin yawning before him.

“We’ve only just opened, Nitori-kun,” chides Rei from the main island, not even looking up from the fresh dough his hands knead tirelessly against the floured surface. “You’ll have to wait until your break.”

Aiichiro’s shoulders sag with a moan, but when he catches Kou’s inquiring eyes, he straightens and says in almost a whisper,

“I could kill for a cigarette.”

She can tell just by the way he twiddles his thumbs that he traps spiders and flies with water glasses and sheets of paper to carefully transport them outside rather than squish them, but she just nods in camaraderie and he repays her with a smile. Aiichiro soon moves away from the station to grab some dirty bowls and truly begin his shift, and so Kou, too, drifts towards the main island with her hands politely clasped behind her back, ready to listen and observe some more.

Rei, she discovers, is a finger painter with containers of toppings for color and pizza dough for canvas. First, he lays the foundation, a simple yet flavorful sauce as per the patron’s request, followed by a layer of shredded cheese: nothing special at first glance. But then, under his hands, a forest bed of thinly sliced shiitake mushrooms springs up around trees of sea weed strips that sprout tender flowers of broccoli in all directions. On another pie, bell pepper slices nestle close together and bloom into red tulips with asparagus stems, while shrimps form the bodies of fantastical butterflies, their wings leafy herbs and diced vegetables in constellations Kou has never considered in all the years she’s helped her mother make their bentos, first standing tiptoe on a wooden stool until she could comfortably reach with both feet planted on the floor. If they let her, perhaps she would watch Rei paint all day. He tells her in a faraway tone that, could he afford a decent camera, would love to take photographs of his work and compile an album to share his vision with the world.

Kou lingers by his side, asking questions about his choices until her employer calls for her to assume her place at the bar once more. Sasabe’s Pizzeria may not yet be the dining sensation it deserves to be, but a near-steady flow of regulars and cautious first-timers keeps Kou continuously employed behind the counter. Sasabe occasionally disappears on delivery rounds carefully calculated on his GPS, leaving the restaurant in Makoto and Kou’s capable hands, and though tension rigs her shoulders the first time, Makoto’s presence works its soothing magic soon enough. She watches him crouch down to crying children, murmuring to them in soft tones, and by the time he finishes, all she hears is light sniffling, the sure end of the storm. Makoto smiles and cocks his head to the side, good nature itself, and Kou can see the same inner glow bloom on children’s faces in his wake.

She muses aloud that he is really gifted when it comes to handling children. He cocks his head with cheeks flushed in gratitude of her praise. He started university late – an unfortunate mountain climbing accident – but he hopes to graduate in two years and become a kindergarten teacher.

“Being around children means a lot to me,” he says fondly and she bites her lip as if to hush the sudden thought that, if she wanted to marry early and have enough children to fill a nursery, she would need to look no further than Tachibana Makoto.

As things are, she settles for a short chat with Aiichiro during his break, though she declines the light menthol cigarettes he offers to her out of politeness.

“I should be on the patch, but I just really like the taste,” he defends himself out of habit. She nods wordlessly, oh, she understands. During university, her drug was energy drinks. Cherry flavored. Pure sin.

And so her first day passes very agreeably, in contentment and relative importance of her role as bartender, cashier and online order manager, until, close to the end of her shift, a new order announces itself with a ping. She first notes down the name, address and phone number, then checks the order. It seems innocuous. This is easy! She leaves her seat and heads for the kitchen, pulling on the door just enough to stick her head inside and give her voice a fair chance against Aiichiro’s furious scrubbing by the sink.

“Cheese pizza to go! Instructions say mackerel!” she pipes up a smile, then twirls away from the door, only to hear it slam open behind her.

“We don’t have mackerel!” cries Rei, his faces contorted in a scandalized grimace: the most animate Kou has seen him all day.

“Are we fresh out?” she asks, her brow quirked in confusion.

“No! _There is - no mackerel - on - the menu!_ ” splutters Rei in reply. A moment later, Aiichiro’s head pops up behind him, evidently drawn by the ruckus. Even Makoto turns away from the booth he’s just served and careens his head to see what the commotion is about.

“This is strange…” muses Sasabe once he rises from his seat by the bar, his furrowed brow heavily lined.

“Huh… um… I’ll verify the order, then!” offers Kou, pivoting around on her heels to dash back to the counter. She picks up the restaurant cell phone and dials the number she had so painstakingly added to their registry. The phone rings four times before it clicks.

 _Hello?_ comes a soft, lifeless voice from the other end.

“Good evening,” replies Kou, her free hand scratching lightly at the counter. “This is Sasabe’s Pizzeria, Matsuoka Kou speaking. Is this Nanase Haruka-san?”

A long pause. _Yes_ , replies the voice, now a little sharper and deeper than before.

“Oh, sorry! Nanase Haruka- _kun_ , then!” titters Kou as her free hand fixes her mistake in the registry one key at a time. She then recites his address to him, which he confirms with a hum. She takes a deep breath.

“Um, about your instructions to the driver—”

 _Mackerel_ , he replies in a no nonsense tone.

“Um—”

 _Raw mackerel_ , he corrects himself. Her eyes widen.

“Raw.. mackerel?” she echoes despite herself – a grave mistake.

 _Thank you. I’ll be waiting_ , he replies, then hangs up. Kou’s eyes narrow as the call end tone whistles repeatedly in her ear, then lowers the phone and stares at it for a solid minute before placing it, like some disgusting object, beside the register. Eight eyes, large and inquisitive, gauge into her on all sides and she lifts her head like she’s about to face the four-headed hydra of the lake.

“He wants raw mackerel,” she wearily informs the chef standing to her left, who lets out an anguished howl loud enough to startle the college students huddled in the nearest booth and force a yelp out of Aiichiro.

“Raw mackerel on pizza is an abomination! I will not stand for this!!” shrieks Rei with both hands tearing at his hairnet. Aiichiro cowers behind him. Even Makoto looks troubled for once.

“Maybe it’s a prank call,” grumbles Sasabe with his chin cupped, but his hand soon slips to the back of his head. “Sheesh… on your first day, too,” he mumbles apologetically to Kou, who shrugs her shoulders with an uneasy smile.

“What do we do now?” blurts Aiichiro from behind Rei and they all exchange worried glances, until inspiration seems to strike Makoto.

“What’s the address again?” he asks Kou, who recites it to him. Makoto’s eyes roll to the side, as if he’s making calculations in his head. Sasabe quirks his brow.

“What is it, Makoto?” he asks. When Makoto looks up again, his hands slap onto his hips.

“I’ll take care of this,” he declares, and when he receives no opposition from his employer, he turns to Rei at once with hardened features. “Rei, you go and prepare a plain cheese pizza. Leave the rest to me.”

Rei pauses and Kou fears a protest forthcoming, but he ultimately gives Makoto an affirmative nod and hurries back into the kitchen. A moment later, Aiichiro, now exposed without an outraged chef to hide behind, excuses himself with a bow and scampers back to his station.

“That’s our number one troubleshooter!” bellows Sasabe with a grin and a hearty slap on Makoto’s shoulder that nearly sends his knees buckling. He brushes off the compliment with a polite smile and returns to his booth. As he walks away, Sasabe nudges Kou lightly in the side and whispers, eyes on Makoto’s back,

“We let him deal with troublesome customers. He’s a natural at it.”

Having listened and observed all day, Kou nods knowingly.


End file.
